She hasn’t spoken since the sun came up.
Not about Ivan. Not about what’s about to happen. Just sat across from me at breakfast, eyes on the steam rising from her coffee like it held the answers she needed. I didn’t push. I know better than to ask her to name the ghosts.
She’ll face one today.
I wanted to keep her out of that room. Wanted to shield her from the blood, the final breath, the look in Ivan’s eyes when he realizes it’s over. But this isn’t about him. It’s about her. About the girl who used to flinch at shadows and now walks toward them with her chin high.
She needs to see it. Not to say goodbye. To know it’s real.
We walk the hallway in silence. Her hand brushes mine once, not to hold—just to anchor. I glance down and see her knuckles white, her jaw set. She’s not afraid.
